# 3

In deliveries.
For the company.

Kiss my ass, last guy who ran the store.

Soooo, thats good news.

Wanna hear the bad news? I'm totally burned out. Like, supremely. Tomorrow I will be working at least 17 hours. At LEAST 17. You wanna hear how much I work every week...? Somewhere between 90 and 100. Im pretty fucking fried.

I love my job. But not that much. This is a total fucking killer. It is fucking up so many things in my life. I feel like I have sacrificed so much for it. Sara is proud of me for being someone that is willing to do what it takes to make things happen. I am proud to finally have my head above water with my debts and with life in general. I feel, for the first time in a long time, like someone worthwhile. I guess my biggest issue is that I have no real gauge as to what it takes to be a worthwhile person.

Thinking about life.

Thinking about what I really want to do with it.

About what I should do with it.

About what I will be remembered for.

If I will be remembered.

Should I be remembered?

What could I be remembered for?

Will I just be that guy that people look at as something not to be?



You wanna do that movie thing?

Maybe that comic thing?

Maybe ingest some fucking drugs and trip into a series of amazing ideas and random craziness where no one can decide if there was really a fucking tyranasaurus or a stupid shadow and nobody fucking cares? Want to watch me crawl into a subwoofer and demand drums and look at some idiotic light display and enjoy the simplicity of life and ridiculousness and touching some weird fuzzy thing stuck to the carpeting and thinking that maybe, just maybe, somebody put it there for the world to find and hoping that some chemical spill will give us all super powers and nonsense and thought and inwardness and ego and id and fun and music and not feeling like a fucking train hit me point blank in the face and sneered while doing so.

Am I willing to accept my own life? Am I proud of myself? I think that is one thing that this job leaves no room for...major introspection. I feel like I can sit on the couch and evaluate myself for hours on end and the only thing that I would really come up with at the moment is whether or not I am doing the best that I can with my job. Job. Job. Job.

Job
=
J ewed
O ppressed
B eat

Once I get my shit together, and I mean fully together with some monies saved up, I am absolutely fucking down. My creative side has been stripped naked, and he wants his goddamn pants back.